The tiger who would not use his claws sits spinning at his wheel, keeping time with the universe. The whiteness of the heat and the light. Awash with the smell of simplicity. First a subcontinent, then the world. Quiet little man, keeping time with the universe. A white-collar man becomes a saint. Leads his followers to the sea. A white-collar man becomes a saint. On to total victory. God canceled our subscription. All things must pass: martyrs, too. The hunter who refused to use his bow was himself shot down by a random foe. His wheel's spinning still, with momentum of his will, spinning on, keeping time with the universe. A white-collar man becomes a saint. Leads his followers to the sea. A white-collar man becomes a saint. On to total victory. The pilot does not know how to fly. We are spinning towards the earth and we will soon die. The passengers think that they can do a better job, and the pilot is replaced by an angry mob. (c) Tim Mungenast